


Stay

by tsuristyle



Category: SMAP
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 03:31:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9104800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsuristyle/pseuds/tsuristyle
Summary: We'll be together, yours ever...(Warning: Contains not-happy content, not of a violent or sexual nature. I wouldn't say it's a completely unhappy fic, though. This fic works best without any spoilers, but if there are certain types of fic you absolutely don't want to read, see the notes at the end first. Written July 2014.)





	

For a moment when Shingo wakes up, he isn't sure where he is. His apartment is a mess. It's always a mess, but usually in a way that at least makes some sort of lazy sense; this is more like he stopped caring where anything was altogether. He gingerly steps over an ice tray lying in his bedroom doorway and peeks into the living room.  
  
Tsuyoshi is fast asleep on the couch, one ankle dangling off the cushion. Shingo smiles, feeling oddly relieved, and tiptoes into the kitchen to scavenge for breakfast.  
  
Nakai is already awake, nursing a glass of water with a grimace. Shingo opens the fridge and squats in front of it, considering the paltry options. "Already take painkillers?"  
  
His bandmate nods once and cracks an eye open. "Still asleep?"  
  
"Yeah." Half a tomato, some frozen bacon, how old are these eggs? Shingo piles ingredients into his arms and nudges the door shut with his foot. "Bet he'll probably need some, too."  
  
Nakai shifts to lean against the fridge, out of Shingo's way. "Been a long time since we've been together like this."  
  
"Mm." Shingo smiles fondly at the tomato he's cutting. "Off today, right?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You can stay if you want."  
  
Nakai doesn't say anything. Shingo hesitates, tomato slices slipping between his fingers, and glances over. His bandmate has both eyes cracked open now, watching him over the rim of his glass like a stray cat warily crouched at a water bowl.  
  
"I might," he says finally, setting the glass down half-empty and slipping into the living room.  
  
Shingo has just finished whipping up three omelettes when a groan from the couch announces Tsuyoshi's wakefulness. He digs a tray out from under a stack of unwashed dishes-- he hasn't had company in a while, come to think of it-- and balances the omelettes and a glass of water out into the living room.  
  
"That smells _wonderful_ ," Tsuyoshi moans, propping himself up with an elbow. Nakai is sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch with a game controller in one hand; he pauses what looks like a round of Mario Kart to glance back at Tsuyoshi with a smile. "You're finally up."  
  
Tsuyoshi accepts the water from Shingo and downs it gratefully. "Says the 41-year-old playing video games on a Saturday morning. What are you, six?"  
  
"Says the man who was obsessed with Tekken and Virtual Fighter." Nakai watches Tsuyoshi finish off the water. "Painkillers?"  
  
"Nah, I'm good." Tsuyoshi rubs his eyes and smiles up at Shingo. "Is that all for me?"  
  
"Don't be silly." Shingo passes out the omelettes and digs in, joining Tsuyoshi on the couch. "Let's eat!"  
  
They spread the blankets over their laps and stick their ankles out, watching Nakai play Mario Kart and lining up their empty plates along the arm of the couch. Tsuyoshi finds a second controller under a pile of boxers and proceeds to lose soundly before trading off with Shingo and making Nakai curse.  
  
When they're bored with Mario Kart, Nakai leans against Tsuyoshi's knee and watches Shingo dig through his stack of video games. Tsuyoshi yawns and wiggles his toes comfortably. "It's like being on tour."  
  
Nakai turns his head, resting his cheek on Tsuyoshi's knee. "Like the tours back then."  
  
Tsuyoshi pokes Nakai's forehead. "Why did we stop?"  
  
Shingo glances up, catching Nakai's eye. Why did the three of them stop hanging out together like this? "'Cause Nakai-kun and I don't get along," he replies, giving up on his video games. He fishes the remote out from under the table and considers switching to television, but his thumb practically moves of its own accord and flicks the monitor off. It'd probably just be celebrity gossip shows at this hour, anyway.  
  
Nakai hums in what might be agreement, closing his eyes. Tsuyoshi pokes his forehead again. "That's not why," he murmurs softly, but before either of them can respond he stretches and pats his stomach exaggeratedly. "I'm hungry, can we order pizza?"  
  
They end up ordering two because Nakai is picky and Shingo wants mayo potato and nothing else, and eat straight from the boxes perched on the junk on Shingo's coffee table. Nakai scoots up onto the couch, cross-legged, one knee resting on Tsuyoshi's thigh as if for reassurance. That's how Nakai always was, Shingo thinks; he needs it but he won't admit it so he ends up quietly taking it anyway. He grabs another slice and props his feet on the table, large next to Tsuyoshi's. "We stopped 'cause Nakai stopped inviting me," he lets out, and shoves the pizza into his mouth.  
  
Nakai looks over, still holding half a slice. "I don't recall _you_ inviting _me_ along either."  
  
"You wouldn't come anyway," Shingo lies. Nakai probably would, but not to be with him.  
  
Tsuyoshi leans forward, pulling out another slice. "Because you both wanted to be with me."  
  
Shingo swallows down his bite of pizza without tasting it. Did Tsuyoshi realize-- no, of course he doesn't mean it that way. He catches Nakai's eye again and knows the older man is thinking the same thing. They were both greedy, but in the end neither of them was willing to lose what they already had.  
  
The thought echoes oddly in Shingo's head, so he balances the unfinished slice on the edge of the pizza box and nestles against Tsuyoshi's side, resting his cheek on his bandmate's shoulder. Tsuyoshi's still here after all these years, warm and understanding by his side, and even if he doesn't understand _everything_ Shingo doesn't have any regrets. Tsuyoshi is here.  
  
Nakai is here, too. Shingo isn't sure why he called the older man, but he'd come. Probably because of Tsuyoshi, it's always been about Tsuyoshi. Shingo's done a few things he regrets because of _that_.  
  
But he's here now, the three of them are together like this again, truce lines drawn in the sunlight starting to tilt through Shingo's curtains. Dust motes drift through the air-- he really should clean, when was the last time he cleaned?-- and the heat of the afternoon lulls them into peaceful silence until Shingo can feel the weight of Nakai against Tsuyoshi's other side and his own eyelids grow too heavy to keep open. He doesn't want to sleep, he thinks, he just wants to stay like this, just in case...  
  
He wakes again when the last of the sunlight has just slipped from his toes. The afternoon heat is cooling to golden evening, and when Shingo opens his eyes Tsuyoshi is already awake.  
  
His bandmate looks beautiful like this, features softened by the muted glow of the remaining light. Shingo opens his mouth to say something but then Tsuyoshi looks down at him and smiles.  
  
"I know why we stopped doing this," he says, and gently lowers his lips to Shingo's.  
  
Shingo can only stare for a moment-- he's worked so hard not to lose what they have, how can Tsuyoshi do something so dangerous?-- and then he sucks in a sharp breath of air, mouth parting further of its own accord. They're kissing properly now, tentative, soft, chaste, and Tsuyoshi tilts his head for a better angle but then there's a tiny noise from his other side and Nakai is awake.  
  
Nakai sits up, trying to pull away, and then he looks down and Shingo realizes his bandmates' hands are twined together. Who reached for who first? "Nakai-kun," Tsuyoshi says, tugging their joined hands close again. "It's okay."  
  
The older man closes his eyes, breathing in. "You don't have to--" He doesn't finish, tightening his fingers between Tsuyoshi's.  
  
"It's okay," Tsuyoshi says again. "I love both of you." Nakai opens his eyes and looks at Tsuyoshi like he might disappear if he blinks. Shingo lifts his head, trying to wrap his mind around the words he's just heard.  
  
"So you'll have to get along for my sake," their bandmate adds with a little smile. He tugs at Nakai's hand again, and the older man follows, hesitantly reaching up with his free hand to touch Tsuyoshi's cheek. Nakai watches his own thumb trace Tsuyoshi's cheekbone, as if to confirm that it's really there; then his eyes drop to the younger man's mouth and he leans in to meet it, slow, curious, surprisingly sweet.  
  
"Tsuyopon--" Shingo finds Tsuyoshi's other hand, interlocking their fingers loosely. "Do you really--" But his bandmate cuts him off, raising their hands to kiss Shingo's knuckles.  
  
"I knew," he says softly, looking down. "But I was afraid, too."  
  
"Tsuyoshi," Shingo whispers. A thousand thoughts push their way forward, all wanting to be said at once. Nakai leans his forehead against Tsuyoshi's; they both have too much to say, and it seems so important to say it _now_ , as if their only chance will slip away with the fading light.  
  
So they say it in kisses and caresses, mouths and hands trailing confessions their tongues have held back for years. Tsuyoshi answers them in kind, at first inquisitive, exploratory, then growing bolder and more urgent as the sunset stains the room red. Everything seems dreamlike, unreal; even as the first time ends too quickly they linger on each other's skin, trying to memorize every surface with lips and fingertips. Nakai's hands meet Shingo's on Tsuyoshi's back, but they're on the same side now, there's no need to fight this war of attrition anymore; they want the same thing, and they're more than willing to work together for it.  
  
They stumble across the messy floor and kick the covers off Shingo's unmade bed, tangling together until it doesn't matter whose hands are whose. Tsuyoshi's been there for them all this time, how could they have been so oblivious? But now they finally understand everything, now there will be time to make this work, time for this frantic desperation to fade from their fingertips into comfortable familiarity. Time to express everything they feel, and maybe, Shingo thinks as he watches Nakai cling to Tsuyoshi's back and lose control in a final, breathless kiss, to fall in love again.  
  
But then his best friend is in his arms, legs wrapped around him and mouth belonging to him and him alone, and Shingo knows there isn't anyone he could love as much as Tsuyoshi. There could never be anyone so kind, so gentle, so perfect in all his imperfections, who makes Shingo's heart ache like he can't possibly hold him close enough. He goes as slow as he can, he doesn't want this to end, he wants to stay like this forever, until Tsuyoshi is moaning with every movement he makes and neither of them can hold back any longer. They surrender together, holding each other so tight that letting go seems impossible.  
  
The last of the light is slowly fading as they curl together under the blanket. Shingo has his arms wrapped around Tsuyoshi's waist, chin resting in the curve of his shoulder; Nakai is lined along Tsuyoshi's other side, one hand twined with the younger man's again. It's a moment of perfect, lazy calm, the three of them together like they used to, like they always should have been. If it can last-- if they can make it last--  
  
Tsuyoshi yawns, and in the settling twilight they can hear the smile in his voice. "I'm glad I got to stay with you guys a little longer. Be good to each other, okay?"  
  
\--and then he isn't there in Shingo's arms anymore, he isn't there because Tsuyoshi is gone, Tsuyoshi's been gone for a week now, and all Shingo has left is empty hands and warmth fading from blankets and a heart so full he doesn't know why it keeps on beating. Tsuyoshi is gone. Nakai makes a noise like something's been torn from him but Shingo doesn't hear it, he curls in on himself and remembers that it's been a week since he's even stepped outside. His apartment is a mess because he's barely been alive since that day, everything a blur of tears and regret and numbness from the moment reality sank in. Tsuyoshi is gone.  
  
He doesn't even realize he's crying until Nakai is holding him, cradling Shingo's head to his chest protectively, burying his face in Shingo's hair. "Shingo," he murmurs, his voice thick. "He was here-- he really was here--"  
  
"He came back for us." He'd wanted so much for things to have never changed. Enough to believe that nothing had happened, that everything was just as it always had been. He curls tighter and hurts.  
  
When he can breathe again it makes him dizzy, like he'd forgotten how. "Did you-- know?"  
  
Nakai nods mutely into Shingo's hair. "But I wanted to see him. I wanted..." His voice trails off into a whisper. Maybe he'd forgotten, too.  
  
_I love both of you. Be good to each other, okay?_  
  
Shingo uncurls, just a little, and slips his arms around Nakai's waist. They're both broken in a way that won't heal, not for a long time. But Tsuyoshi is right: like this, it hurts a little less, a little less.  
  
  
_In the morning, Shingo sits on the couch eating leftover pizza-- the flavor Nakai chose is pretty good, actually-- and listens to the sounds of Nakai cleaning the kitchen. It's as much to be doing something as it is for Shingo's sake, he knows-- they have today off as well, one more day before they have to face the world again. Shingo wonders if they'll be expected to smile and laugh like nothing's happened, like they've already made their peace and moved on._  
  
_Something buzzes underfoot and Shingo digs through the abandoned blankets to find his cell phone, alit with Kimura's name on the screen. "Hello?"_  
  
_"Shingo? It's me." Kimura had called him every day, threatening to send Goro over with eel bentos if he didn't eat. You need to keep living, he'd said. "You sound better."_  
  
_Shingo tugs the blankets up into his lap. "A little."_  
  
_"Good." Kimura makes it sound casual but Shingo knows how much he means it. "Is Nakai there?"_  
  
_"Yeah. He's cleaning the kitchen." Nakai emerges from the kitchen, as if on cue; he's carrying a dish towel in one hand, the other poised on his hip. "Who're you talking to? Kimura?"_  
  
_"Yeah. I told him you're my personal maid now."_  
  
_"Personal maid, my ass." Nakai flicks the towel at him. "Get in here and help me wash these dishes."_  
  
_Kimura's laughter is soft and low in Shingo's ear; he feels lighter, suddenly, watching the morning sunlight pool around Nakai's feet as he turns to go back into the kitchen._  
  
_"Nakai-kun," he says, and at first it's just to see what saying it feels like, but then Nakai glances back at him and he has something he wants to say after all._  
  
_"You can stay if you want."_  
  
_Nakai catches his eye-- still wary, but a little more open, a little more sure-- and then a faint smile pulls at the corners of his mouth._  
  
_"I might."_

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This fic involves dealing with a major character death (a member of SMAP), which occurred off-screen in the past.


End file.
